


Untitled

by Catminty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:53:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catminty/pseuds/Catminty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miniature giftfic series for Kusuarts. Because there needs to be more of this pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kusuarts](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kusuarts), [Kusu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kusu/gifts).



It started out with little things. Don't disasters always start out with something small, something so minuscule that if you so happened to stop and question it, you'd feel stupid for being paranoid? Like forgetting to retighten a bolt. Or saying something in a panic without thinking about the possible repercussions. 

Granted, Fulcrum hadn't actually done anything to suddenly be the center of attention besides, well, exist. The grunts were busy cleaning rust off old rivets in one of the small storage rooms when the disaster occurred. Crankcase and Misfire were giving good-natured threats about strapping Fulcrum to the floor and grinding his chin down more than a few microns so it was less...pronounce. It was a little unnerving considering he'd only been on the W.A.P. for a few weeks. But, hey, at least it was only a friendly threat--he prayed to Primus or any sort of chin-loving deity out there that it was just _words_. A threat was a thousand times better than an action. Because Fulcrum really did like his chin, along with every other part of his being. 

But it was only a threat. They weren't really supposed to bring harm to each other. Going through the whole near-death experience with the motley group seemed to form as an odd sort of initiation to the Guild of Weird. Fulcrum didn't think that name up. It was the late Flywheels that insisted they were a guild, and Misfire tacked on the "Weird" part. That name lasted all of half a day. Once Krok found out, he did the creepiest impression of _Mangle-Faced Officer Hyped-Up On Circuit Speeders That Was Highly Displeased_. Krok was authoritative even when he was flat on his back with barely enough equilibrium to raise one finger at them. Who knew?

But, yeah, circuit speeders. The Scavengers were able to collect what was left in Grimlock's holding cell to use for "healing" the injured. Spinister insisted that the slag could be used to make recovery time faster (circuit _speeders_ ) in spite of the stuff's dangerous history. Spark anomalies, processor damage, and repair nanites that sometimes went insane and cannibalized the mech instead of repairing him were just a few of the possible side-effects. Spinister checked frequently to make sure Krok's nanites didn't go AWOL. 

Speaking of processor damage. 

Fulcrum wiggled nervously as large fingers pinched his chin firmly and guided his head back. That wouldn't normally be a cause of alarm for the K-Con if it had been a mech besides an ex-Autobot berserker holding his pronounce chin. To his left and right, Crankcase and Misfire had both gone terrifyingly silent. They seemed just as shocked as he was at the Dinobot's sudden interest in everything Fulcrum. 

"Mm," Grimlock rumbled to himself as he analyzed the smaller K-Con intently. 

A mixture of panic and fear had Fulcrum's hands hovering in the air awkwardly between the delusional thought of trying to pull the large mech's hand away and an internal effort to restrain himself from setting the mentally disabled mech off. He was just one measly flick of the wrist from decapitation, after all. Citrine optics flared bright when his helm was twisted carefully for a good once-over on each side. What was Grimlock doing?!

"Chin, big." Nodding to himself, the Dinobot relinquished his hold but stayed still. He was literally casting a shadow over the three of them. "Big, good."

Fulcrum all but fell over himself to put just a teensy bit more distance between himself and the big guy. Every little bit helped keep a Decepticon alive. "Good, yes. Big is good," the small 'Con agreed with an enthusiastic nod as he crawled backwards. " _Very_ good, in fact. I like big. Do you like big? I know I do. Big!" He laughed nervously. "Love it!"

Beside him, Crankcase choked on what appeared to be absolutely nothing. Misfire's expression went through several phases: shock at the Dinobot's sudden proximity morphed to realization, which then changed to alarm. "No, pinhead. You like small." Nodding rapidly, the jet took hold of the smaller mech's arm to help him move away faster. "Small, yeah? Real small. Like, tiny. So small you could barely even see it!" He waved wildly to Crankcase and got the mech to snag Fulcrum's other arm. 

Trapped between the two retreating Decepticons, Fulcrum's helm darted back and forth in growing panic. "What? No! No, no, no! I like big!" Was Misfire trying to get Grimlock to give him a face remodel? "The bigger the better!" 

Know what was bad about the W.A.P.? It was small. Small and cramped. It was the cozy quarters that left puny mech with few places run and even fewer places to hide. And small places usually only had one escape route, which Grimlock was currently looming in. What Decepticon in their right mind would build a room with only one door?

It seemed that his reaffirmed answer had been enough to satisfy the simple-minded oaf. Instead of setting to work on removing Fulcrum's chin, Grimlock just turned around and lumbered out of the small storage room. The trio stayed still, unnaturally silent, until they felt the vibrations of the Dinobot's steps dissipate as he drew further away. Scary. Yeah. Wow, really dodged a bullet on that one. 

"You really just fragged yourself!" Crankcase shouted. 

"Are you really that much of a pinhead, pinhead?" Misfire cackled. He slouched against Fulcrum's shoulder to hold himself up as a bought of laughter wracked his frame. 

The K-Con could only look at them both in confusion while trying to keep himself upright on his knees and Misfire half-standing. "What?"

Crankcase didn't seem nearly half as mirthful as the jet. Nothing new there, but...his face was drawn tighter than usual. "You don't know what you just said. Really." Turning away, the mech sighed. "Primus." 

Blinking, Fulcrum shook his helm. "What are you talking about?"

"You said--" Misfire wheezed between laughs. "You said you like it **big**."

Optics widened in dawning horror, Fulcrum stuttered. No. There must have been some confusion. Laughing nervously, he said, "Haaah, funny! D-Don't kid around like that."

A hand clamped down on Fulcrum's unoccupied shoulder, and he looked up at Crankcase in a mixture of hope and denial. The mech's serious face was doing a horrible job at reassurance. "This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that it'll be alright. But, knowing your luck, it won't. There's a chance that he might forget this whole conversation even happened." 

The hand on Fulcrum's shoulder tightened. Did his fuel pump suddenly stop? He was feeling a little lightheaded. 

Crankcase continued, tone calm. "But in the event he remembers, try to distract him. Use something shiny--but not near Spinister! Primus forbid that idiot shoots another hole in this leaky slag bucket."

With the brief moment of Decepticon-style comfort over, the trio migrated back to their impromptu work station. Fulcrum didn't regain feeling in his limbs for two days. 


	2. Chapter 2

So. A grunt here, a sudden, strut-freezing _sniff to the back of the neck that'd make any sane mech want to crawl out of his own plating in a twisted sense of self-preserve just to get away_ there. Yeah. Self-preservation kind of went out the window when a mech was trapped on a small, dilapidated ship puttering along out in the middle of space with a curious beast more than two times bigger and thrice as heavy that was half-intent on getting friendly. A beast that now thought that the puny K-Con liked big things. Eek.

Grimlock had taken an unnatural interest in him early on, before the incident. Maybe it was because Fulcrum was the only one who tried to talk to him? Granted, "talking" usually consisted of the smaller mech stuttering praises at the big Autobot for not biting off his hand during feeding time. They were guessing that Grimlock would only eat in his alternate mode because he didn't know how to retract his own mask in root mode. Transform into a big, Decepticon-mauling Dinobot with rows of serrated teeth and spend hours trying to lick energon out of a large, shallow dish? Sure. Retract your mask with a single line of coding and drink from a cube like a normal mech? No, way too hard. 

Fulcrum sighed in relief as the Autobot focused on the fresh allotment of fuel rather than on him for a moment. He took a tentative step back to give the lug some space. Fueling time was usually an interesting affair. It was both funny and sad watching a giant berserker nudge a shallow bowl around on the floor, sloshing the fuel _everywhere,_ while trying to lap it up. 

However, this day was different. Grimlock had an oddly determined look in his optic when he transformed. Apparently, this day was the day he would not lick his meal off the floor. This day was the day he would eat _without_ chasing after his own bowl. 

Fulcrum had all of an astrosecond worth of warning before Grimlock squared his shoulder, leaned down at a notably practiced pivot (Misfire had mentioned at some point that Grimlock kept trying to touch his toes or something), and proceeded to dunk his beastly snout in the bowl of fuel and inhale rather than awkwardly lap with that big tongue of his. It went right in his intakes. All Fulcrum had time to do was turn around and cover his helm. 

Ever see a Dinobot sneeze? Yeah. Fire breath. Fire breath fueled by a sneezed mist of energon left a permanent charred stain on the wall with the silhouette of a very unlucky Fulcrum. 

After a check with an intrigued Spinister, the K-Con was relieved to hear that it didn't do more than char his backside, luckily. But, ow. Sitting was going to sting for a while after his pain receptors healed.

The accident should have been used to reaffirm the allowed distance between Decepticon and Autobot. It would have been the perfect opportunity to ingrain in that stupid helm the "no-touchy" rule. But it was hard to try to act angry when Grimlock actually seemed repentant for his mistake. He'd follow Fulcrum around and whine each time the K-Con pushed his snout away whenever he tried to nuzzle the blackened plating. The noises he made should have come from a cyberhound pup not... _Grimlock._  

The fight was forfeit from the start. How could any mech with a spark stay angry? The act lasted all of one whole day before Fulcrum caved. Somehow, having a keening mass of reptilian-shaped beast wrapped around the defeated resident technician didn't shock the other Scavengers in the slightest. It did, however, make maneuvering through the hallway an extremely time consuming affair. That, or they all just took their time so they could make goggly eyes and kissy faces at the happy Dinobot and his reluctant cuddle buddy. 


End file.
